Work Text:
Hayden can do this. He can definitely do this.
“Did you miss me?” Rozanov smirks as he speaks, his thick accent threading through every syllable.
Yeah, Hayden can’t do this. He doesn’t know who the fuck he thought he was fooling.
“Fuck off, Rozanov,” Hayden responds instinctively and rolls his eyes. His voice is pitched high and more emotive than Shane would ever be, but it’s too late to change it now. Besides, it’s not like Rozanov knows Shane well enough to pick up on that. Except...Rozanov blanches, his brows lowering in confused consideration as his gaze rakes over Hayden’s — Shane’s — face.
“Are you okay, Hollander?” he asks. Which is enough of a surprise on its own. What’s even worse is that he sounds completely earnest in his interest, like he’s genuinely concerned at the prospect of Shane not being okay. What the fuck?
“Uh, yes. Yeah, I’m fine,” Hayden answers, shock leveling his tone. Thankfully, they don’t have any more time to engage because just then the puck drops. Rozanov wins the face-off, which Hayden had expected but damn if it isn’t annoying as hell, still. Despite being in Shane’s body, Hayden doesn’t actually have the skills and knowledge to do what Shane does. A lot of it seems to be muscle memory as he dashes across his ice, but Hayden isn’t used to playing center, and it’s showing. Shane, in his body, seems to be adjusting just fine, dashing across the ice, fighting for the puck, even checking Rozanov a few times.
Hayden catches the Boston captain shoot them both confused looks multiple times through first period. At some point, they both happen to be on the bench, and Rozanov calls out to him.
“Hollander.” It takes Hayden a minute to remember that’s him and react. He turns his head towards Rozanov and raises his brows in a silent prompt to continue. “When did Pike learn how to play hockey?” he asks, nodding a chin towards the ice where Shane is still playing. “And when did you forget?”
“Fuck you!”
Rozanov keeps staring at him, confusion written on his face, and for a second, Hayden panics. What if he knows? But that’s stupid. How could he possibly? Still, it seems that in less than thirty minutes Rozanov has picked up on something when the rest of the team didn’t despite having spend most of the day in Shane and Hayden’s proximity. There had been an early practice that morning, the time they’d spent in the changing room and then on the ice for warmups. And yet nobody had blinked an eye, at least not that Hayden had noticed. Nobody had even blinked an eye when Hayden had stumbled his way through a fractured speech that was supposed to be rousing and invigorating before the game.
So, he wasn’t a motivational speaker, sue him. Nobody had noticed is the point. And yet.
And fucking yet. Rozanov was looking at them with confusion as if there was something here that didn’t make sense. Which there was. But Ilya fucking Rozanov of all people shouldn’t have been able to pick up on it. Hayden mulls it over until it’s time for him to get back in the rink. He hasn’t miraculously learned how to be Shane in his time off the ice. He can hold his own, but he is no Shane Hollander. Briefly he wonders what is being said about Shane in the broadcast booths and winces; he makes a note to make it up to Shane at some point. Among other things.
They lose. Unsurprisingly.
Instead of the expected gloating, Rozanov looks back at Hayden – in Shane’s body – with a frown as he exists the rink and disappears down the tunnel towards the changing rooms. Hayden watches his retreating back until he is out of view then he grabs a hold of Shane’s – his own – shoulder. Fuck this is annoying and confusing and so entirely his own fault.
“Rozanov knows,” he hisses to Shane in a whisper.
Hayden watches his own eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise as Shane processes what he’s said. “What? No, he doesn’t. How the fuck would he?”
“I don’t know, but I am, like 78% sure he knows.” Hayden knows the panic is bleeding through to his voice, but there is nothing he can do to stop it.
The two of them head towards the guest changing rooms together.
“He doesn’t know,” Shane insists as he pushes his way through the door.
“Shane,” a voice calls, and they both turn towards it. “NBC wants a few words, if you’re up for it?”
Hayden waits for Shane to answer until an elbow is jammed into his side and he realizes. “Right,” Hayden hurries to say. “Of course. Now, or can I shower first?”
“They can wait.”
So Hayden showers, which is also a...weird experience. He tries not to pay too much attention to any part of his best friends body as he washes off sweat and soreness. He gets dressed then does the performance of answering redundant and frustrating questions by hungry reporters. He may not be as media polished as Shane but any weirdness can be explained away by the disappointment of losing to their worst rival.
Once they are back and settled in their hotel room, Shane on his phone, texting, it suddenly occurs to Hayden that they are in Boston, and what that means.
“You can not fuck Lily in my body, bro.”
Shane turns to him slowly, entirely unimpressed before his eyes glaze for a second and he snorts.
“I’m serious, you can’t. It may not be me in there, but that body–” he gestures to Shane, to his own body “–it’s married, okay?”
Shane keeps blinking at him. It’s funny how despite it being his own face, Shane’s deadpan expression shines through. “How the fuck would I explain this?”
“Oh...right.” Of course, Lily wouldn’t fuck Shane in Hayden’s body, either. Lily doesn’t even know Hayden. Just then, before Hayden can start wondering about the mysterious and elusive Lily again, his phone starts buzzing. It’s pure instinct to just answer it when Jackie facetimes him, so that’s what he does.
“Oh...hi Shane?” Jackie’s confusion is as clear in her voice as it on her face. It had been a relief that this had happened while they were away because Hayden had no idea how to explain any of this. Yet. He’d definitely be telling Jackie everything, even if she wouldn’t believe him.
“Hey,” Hayden answers awkwardly then tilts the camera away from his face and widens his eyes pointedly. He extends the phone towards Shane who shakes his head emphatically and pushes at Hayden’s hand.
“What’s going on?” Jackie asks, and Shane relents.
He grabs the phone and holds it in front of himself. “Hey...babe.”
Hayden cringes.
“Are you okay? What’s going on?” Jackie is suspicious, Hayden can hear it in her tone. That’s her ‘some shit is happening, and I have every intention of finding out what’ voice.
“I’m just tired. Bummed about the game,” Shane answers, his voice is even, which is very Shane but it isn’t how Hayden speaks to his wife.
The silence from the other end is deafening. Hayden tries to, really hard. He really does, okay, but that’s his wife. That’s the love of his life. Okay?
“That’s not me!”
Shane closes his eyes and shakes his head before just handing him back the phone.
“What was that, Shane?” Jackie’s voice sounds from the device as Hayden grabs hold of it once more. “Oh. Can I talk to my husband, please?”
“It’s me, Jackie.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she answers evenly, though Hayden can tell her patience is wearing thin. She raises her voice to be heard, “Hayden?”
“No, I mean it’s me. Hayden.” It’s strange speaking and hearing Shane’s voice. The way his tongue rests in his mouth, how his teeth feel, is familiar to the body he is in, but his mind is so unbearably aware of how starkly different it all is.
Jackie lets out a long suffering sigh and turns her gaze skyward. “I finally managed to wrangle four kids to sleep, I’m not dealing with whatever prank you two are trying to pull.”
“It’s not a prank, I swear–”
— ∞ —
Shane had been weird tonight. Not just in the way he’d spoken and carried himself, but also on the ice. He’d been slower, less coordinated. It had been odd to see. Terrifying in its own way. Ilya would have honestly been concerned if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with Pike, who had also been weird. For one, he actually played...well, not great, but decently for a change. Also, he hadn’t flustered and stuttered out half-assed responses whenever Ilya had chirped at him. Instead, he’d rolled his eyes and suppressed smiles as if he found Ilya’s teasing amusing. Whatever fluke had grabbed hold of Pike for the night, Ilya knew it wouldn’t last so he dismissed it as soon as he was off the ice.
Shane, though….
He kept being weird. Cagey and evasive. They were supposed to meet up tonight. Shane was supposed to come to his place, but for some reason he’d canceled that morning. Despite Ilya’s many attempts to get an answer out of him, an explanation, Shane hadn’t offered him any.
He keeps trying after the game, texts Shane and tells him to cancel whatever he has planned and come over. When that doesn’t work, he tries to convince him to stop by after whatever it is. That doesn’t prove fruitful, either. If he sends a dick pic with the message he misses you, it’s just because he’s too Russian to be fully sentimental and earnest, especially when it seems like Shane is determined to not see him tonight.
His brain gets the better of him eventually, though, and he can’t help himself from sending another message. This one much more revealing than any dick pic ever could be.
Did I do something wrong?
Shane doesn’t respond and Ilya nearly drives himself crazy trying to figure out what he’s done to upset Shane. Because clearly he is. Ilya had thought they were past this whole not-talking thing after Tampa. Maybe he’d been wrong. Or maybe Shane just needs a little time and space tonight.
Maybe Ilya needs a cigarette.
For a second he considers sending Shane a selfie with a cigarette hanging from his lips just to goad a response out of him, but before he can do much of anything the door bell chimes through his home.
He redirects, throwing the packet of cigarettes onto the kitchen island as he passes. He doesn’t hurry to answer the door, although anticipation thrums through him. Shane must have changed his mind.
Ilya opens the door to find...Hayden fucking Pike on his door step.
He closes the door in his face.
“Asshole.” He hears Pike yell through the door before he starts banging his fists against the door.
Ilya sighs and opens it again. He raises his brows expectantly. “What do you want, Pike?”
He asks because all the scenarios Ilya’s mind come up with are...unpleasant to say the least. Particularly with how Shane has been acting all day. He can’t believe that Shane would send Pike to end things for him. Shane hadn’t seemed like he wanted to end things lately. In fact, he has been pushing for more. It was Ilya who’d been keeping them both at bay. Had Ilya pushed too much? Did Shane decide none of this was worth it anymore? That Ilya wasn’t worth it?
“Can I come in?”
“No. Tell me what it is you want.”
Pike looks around him as if anyone is going to be on Ilya's property and see him there. His thumbs hook into the pockets of his sweatpants and Ilya's gaze catches onto the movement with a frown. “I can’t really explain, can we just…” He finishes his sentence wordlessly gesturing into Ilya’s home.
Ilya narrows his eyes in suspicion but steps back to allow Pike access. Pike enters his home, doesn’t even bother asking if he should take off his shoes, the fucker. He walks ahead of Ilya, leads them to Ilya's couch and takes a seat.
Ilya follows slowly, something pulling at his brain but it’s too vague a sensation for him to discern at the moment. For a second he considers sitting as close to Pike as he can just to mess with him, but ultimately decides against it.
Pike doesn’t speak which does surprise Ilya. For some reason, he’d always assumed that Pike was an incessant talker, just an outflow of non-stop rambling of sound.
Annoyingly the silence gets to Ilya first, and he gives in to the urge to voice his thought.
“Do you know?” he asks, keeping the question vague enough that if he doesn’t it’d be pretty fucking hard for him to clue it together with nothing else to go off.
Pike frowns and tilts his head. A hand lifts to his lashes and he pulls at them nervously. How much time exactly do he and Shane actually spend around one another?
“That means yes? Is this why Shane is being weird? You said something to him?” Ilya demands. He tries to remain unaffected, but he was never good at that where Shane was concerned.
“No. I’m not– weird? Weird how?”
Ilya opens his mouth to answer but then shakes his head. That’s not important. Not when it’s clear that Pike is in his home for one reason, and one reason only. “He sent you to end things.”
“What? No.” Pike is suddenly moving closer, sitting next to him. Ilya raises his brows judgmentally. “Okay,” Pike says and nods his head as if gearing himself up for something. His eyes lock onto Ilya’s, and Ilya is unnervingly stuck. “I– fuck. I don’t even know how–” He takes a deep breath, then, “I’m Shane.”
Ilya stares at him blankly. He must have missed something. “What is joke here?” he asks impassively after a beat.
“There’s no joke. It’s really me.”
“Very funny, Pike.” And because he feels unsettled, he relies on what he knows best. He deflects. “You want me to kiss you, yes? That’s why you do this. Does Shane know?”
Pike is already shaking his head, but it stops abruptly. “Would you?”
“No.” The response is instant. Ilya wouldn’t. For many reasons.
“Why?” Pike annoyingly presses. Shrugging, he goes on. “I’m a fairly attractive guy. You’ve fucked people that are married before. So why not?”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
Ilya clenches his jaw and looks away. He is not about to bare his soul to Hayden fucking Pike. Especially not before he’s even told Shane these things that looping through his mind. That live in his heart.
“Ilya…”
Ilya's attention snaps back to Pike. It’s one thing for him to call him Ilya, but the way he says it...
“It’s me.”
Ilya works his jaw. Shakes his head.
“No.”
Pike sighs. He moves even closer and places a hand on Ilya's knee. For some reason, Ilya lets him. Doesn’t push him away.
“I know this isn’t how we wanted to spend time together, but I...wanted to see you. I wanted to be with you.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know that...but I’ve missed you, and we won’t see each other for a while after this, and I just...fuck. I’m gonna kill Hayden.”
“Pike, I am warning you.” The threat is undermined by the slight tremor of his voice.
Pike squeezes his knee and exhales audibly. For a moment nothing happens, but then determined eyes lock onto Ilya’s. “You trust Shane, right? You trust that what happens between you and Shane is just for the two of us–you. That if you tell him something he wouldn’t tell anyone else?”
“Of course.” Ilya’s heart is racing, bracing for what is about to come.
“14-10. Do you remember what that is?”
A nod.
“1-2-2-1.”
Ilya’s eyes fall shut.
“The first time I was here, I freaked out and left when I shouldn’t have. And it killed me. Every day between then and the All Star weekend killed me. In Tampa, you...you told me about your family.”
Ilya shakes his head, but it’s too late. He’s already sold. It’s not just the words; it’s Pike’s mannerisms. That’s all Shane. Add that to the way Pike had walked into his home, self-assured and familiar, like he’s been here before. Fuck. Ilya doesn’t open his eyes, tries to snap reality back into shape with the sheer will of his mind.
“It’s me. Okay? I can’t explain it. I don’t understand it. But it’s me. We just woke up like this in the hotel this morning.”
“This is Pike’s fault,” Ilya says once he feels more in control of himself. He draws in a deep breath through his nose and opens his eyes. It’s weird, despite it being Pike’s voice, he’d sorta been expecting Shane’s face, had wanted to find his soft, brown eyes looking back at him.
“Probably, yeah.” Shane replies with a small, bobbing nod.
“This is strange,” Ilya whispers, staring at Pike’s face. He knows Shane is here with him, but his mind has a rough time believing it. He could use a drink. “You want beer? Ginger ale?” he offers as he gets to his feet.
Shane trails after him as he gets to the kitchen. “No, I’m good.”
Ilya opens the fridge and foregoes the beer, grabbing a coke instead. He really wants some alcohol, something stronger than a beer, and really, if he’s ever had a good reason to drink it’s now, but he refrains.
He turns to see Pike – Shane – glaring at the packet of cigarettes on the kitchen island.
“You’re smoking again.”
“No,” Ilya denies easily and Shane focuses his glare onto him instead. It’s not as effective on Pike’s stupid face. “I didn’t. I was going to before you came.”
“You shouldn’t smoke.”
“I know. But was...special circumstance.”
Shane raises his brows.
“You were acting weird, I thought–”
“What?” Shane presses softly. Ilya thinks he might know. That he wants to hear Ilya say it anyway. He steps closer and leans against the counter less than two feet from Ilya, waits patiently as Ilya chooses his words.
“That you changed your mind, maybe.”
“I’m not going to change my mind,” Shane assures him firmly. Unwaveringly. It’s overwhelming. Shane’s willingness to commit to the vague nebula Ilya has offered in return.
“Thank you.” It doesn’t seem like an appropriate response. Both linguistically and because it just feels inadequate, too small and insignificant in conveying the true depth of his relief.
“Ilya.”
It’s the wrong timber. It’s the wrong mouth shaping around his name. But underneath it all, it’s Shane all the same. And it’s still such a novelty to hear his name coming from Shane that it sends a satisfied thrill down his spine. The moment suddenly feels too heavy, and Ilya distracts himself by opening the can of coke he’d momentarily forgotten.
“Before what?” Shane asks, throwing Ilya for a loop. He swallows before lowering the can to the tabletop, wrapping his hands around the cold drink.
“What?”
“You said that was before when I asked you why you wouldn’t kiss Hayden? Before what?”
“You know.”
Does he, though? Sometimes, Shane doesn’t, is the thing. Sometimes, he needs clear instructions, clear-cut explanations. He isn’t able to read Shane as well wearing Pike’s face. Is that confusion? Understanding? Pike’s face is as annoying as he is. Deciding it’s better to err on the side of doubt, Ilya answers the question anyway. “Before you. Before Tampa.”
Shane frowns. “Would you not kiss Hayden because he’s my friend or would you not–”
“Shane,” Ilya cuts him off, not sure he’s ready to verbalize all of that quite yet, even if it may be clear.
Shane looks at him for a long moment then nods. Easily surrendering to Ilya’s boundaries. God, Ilya fucking loves him. Impossibly, irrevocably. With every fucking fiber of his being. One day, he might even tell him. Because despite how hard Ilya tries to fight it...he’s tried to do that since the very beginning and he’s never had much success. Through the fog of denial, he doubts he’ll ever manage to have any, especially when Shane seems dead-set on making sure they don’t float. Especially because he doesn’t actually want to. Maybe he never did. His heart’s deepest desire is not that he stops loving Shane, but that the world somehow molds itself to allow room for it.
“I haven’t been with anyone else since then,” Shane says softly. Ilya had kinda expected as much, but you never know and it’s nice to get the confirmation. Maybe he can give Shane this, allow him the same relief. Maybe it doesn’t have to carry as much weight as Ilya think it does. Maybe.
He clears his throat. “Me neither.”
A breath whooshes out of Shane. “Really?” The word is warped by the smile spreading on Pike’s face. Ilya suddenly misses his real smile more than anything else. “Really?” Shane asks again, almost giddy. Ilya’s heart swells and presses against his lungs and ribcage. It’s achingly sweet.
“Is not a big deal,” Ilya says with a shrug, aiming for relaxed and completely missing.
Suddenly Shane is crowding against him, tilting his head back, and Ilya wants to kiss Shane so bad, but this isn’t Shane. He looks wrong, feels wrong everywhere they are pressed together. He even smells wrong. This isn’t his Shane.
He puts a hand on Shane’s – fucking Pike’s – chest and pushes him back gently. “Not like this.” He doesn’t mean to sound so rough and gravelly, but his voice is near wrecked.
“Oh.” Shane is pouting. Ilya doesn’t think he’s aware of it. It looks ridiculous, because everything Pike does looks ridiculous, but this is Shane. It’s isn’t but it is. Ilya is going to fucking kill Pike. “I’m gonna kill Hayden,” Shane groans, and Ilya can’t help the chuckle that escapes him.
He doesn’t voice his agreement. “Would you like to stay?” he asks gently instead.
Shane nods, and Ilya doesn’t fight the soft smile that claims his mouth. Ilya might not be willing to kiss Shane while he’s wearing Pike’s face – because it feels like a betrayal of sorts – but they can enjoy each other’s company, can settle easy and talk.
It’s as they are on the couch, high-lights from their game playing on the TV – it’s mostly clips of Ilya on account of Shane being at a spiritual disadvantage, what with being stuck in Pike’s unskilled body – that he remembers something Shane had said.
“You think Pike is attractive?” Ilya asks pointedly.
Shane rolls his eyes. “You know he is.”
“Yes, but you think so?”
“Fuck off.”
“Would you have kissed me if I was stuck in Pike’s body?” Ilya poses the question and then immediately shudders as he actually imagines being stuck in Pike.
“No.”
Ilya studies him. He has no reason to doubt Shane’s denial, but there’s something there. In his posture, in his tone. “What do you guys do in all those hotel rooms all alone?” Ilya teases.
Shane huffs. “He calls his wife and children. I text you.”
“And after you say night-night and turn off the lights?” Ilya should stop. It’s a joke, but his mind is conjuring up images he immediately wishes to unsee.
“Ilya,” Shane says with that impatient tone that means he thinks Ilya’s being ridiculous. “I’m not thinking about anyone else, let alone doing anything. Especially with Hayden.”
“Why not? He’s hot.”
The scowl on his face would be so much better on his face. “Oh yeah? Well if he’s so hot, why didn’t you kiss me?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“Me neither.”
Bickering with Shane has always been a great prelude to sex. The sparking heat that thrums through his veins is exhilarating. Arousing.
“This is annoying. Pike ruins everything. If we had swapped bodies we could still have sex.”
Shane looks slightly perturbed at the idea. Of course, he’d be squeaky about having sex with his own body. He’s a precious flower. But Ilya happens to adore him in spite of it (because of it, whatever).
“Okay, I think– go to bed,” Shane grumbles, a flush spreading over freckle-less cheeks.
“What about you?”
“I’m going to sleep on the couch.”
Ilya opens his mouth to protest then imagines waking up to Pike’s face and slams it shut. “You want my bed?”
“No.” Shane shakes his head. “Hopefully we’ll find a way to turn back tomorrow, and Hayden can deal with a back-ache.”
Ilya is insulted. “My couch is too nice and expensive and comfortable for back-ache.”
Ilya lingers for a long while. It feels bizarre to leave Shane in another room in his house. Shane’s silence is loud with the same sentiment. Eventually staring at the other wordlessly becomes too much and Ilya bids him goodnight and tries not to feel like their night together has been wasted. Yes, they may not have sex, but they had spent time together, they had talked, and Ilya does feel close to Shane despite everything.
— ∞ —
The next morning, Hayden wakes on an unfamiliar couch. He blinks his eyes open and doesn’t recognize the room he is in. It’s definitely not a hotel room, though. He sits up and rubs at his eyes as he looks around. Nothing in there helps him place it. He doesn’t think he’s been here before. He catches his reflection in the large TV screen and is suddenly reminded of the last day, of being stuck in Shane’s body. At least he’s back to being himself again, but where the fuck is he? He should find out, and really, who is going to blame him if he goes exploring a little bit?
Except before he has the chance to go snooping, he hears the soft pitter-patter of footsteps. He gets off the couch with intrigue. This must be Lily’s place. He’s about to meet her. He tries to be as unimposing as possible as she draws closer. For some reason, he’d always pictured her as a blonde, tall woman. But that’s not who comes into view. Instead…
Ilya Rozanov?
Hayden’s thoughts stall. Had he been transported to Rozanov’s place somehow? Before yesterday he’d have said no, of course not that’s not possible, but now? He’ll believe anything.
Rozanov freezes for a second, a groggy, confused Pike falling from his lips, before his expression clears. “Shane?”
Hayden looks back to the television and sees his own reflection, makes sure it really is his face. But yeah, that’s definitely him. Rozanov calling him Shane – which was weird even if he had been Shane. Since when are Rozanov and Shane on a first-name basis? – is jarring. It means that Shane not only had been here, but that he’d told Rozanov what had happened.
Hayden hadn’t magically been transported here while sleeping.
Shane had come here.
Willingly.
To Ilya Rozanov’s house.
Boston’s Ilya Rozanov.
Something tickles in the back of his mind. Why would Shane come here? Why wouldn’t he go to– Lily. His mind provides him with an answer, but it’s too ridiculous to be the truth. He pushes at it, tries to force it away, but it won’t budge. There’s no way. It doesn’t make any sense...but the more he thinks it over, the more some things fall into place, and horribly do make sense.
This particular metaphorical cat should have stayed dead. Or maybe it did, because there was absolutely no satisfaction to be found here, Hayden doesn’t know, the metaphor has run away from him. What he does know, and wishes he didn’t is that Shane and Rozanov– no. Shane hates Rozanov. There’s no fucking way.
Hayden shakes his head, wide-eyed and stumped, and Rozanov freezes again. “Pike.” The corners of his mouth wilt, and his face pinches. Rude. Hayden closes his eyes and tilts his head back, praying. A sharp pain shoots through his nose and he opens his eyes to see Rozanov ready to flick him again.
“No. Whatever you are wishing, stop,” Rozanov tells him sternly. Which, yeah, probably a good call.
“Please tell me I’m wrong.” Hayden clings to the last strands of denial but they become flimsier with every passing second. Oh god, he’s gonna be sick.
Rozanov sighs showily. “I am not doing this again.”
“Again?” Hayden knows his voice has taken on a panicked edge, but he can’t help it. He can’t believe his life right now. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I had talk with you last night.”
“No, you didn’t.”
A careless shrug. “Is not my fault it wasn’t you.”
...right, because Shane had been in his body. Here. With Rozanov. His stomach clenches uncomfortably. What if…? But no, Hayden had woken up on the couch alone, and he’d told Shane not to have sex with Lily while in his body. And if Ilya Rozanov really was Lily (and Hayden was still holding out hope that he wasn’t) then Shane wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. Right? No, Shane wouldn’t.
But then again, Hayden hadn’t thought that Shane would be involved with the likes of Rozanov either, so what the fuck does he know? And Rozanov definitely would do some crazy things from what Hayden has heard through the rumor mill. Oh christ.
“You and Shane didn’t…” He makes an imprecise movement with his hand.
Rozanov blinks at him slowly, like he’s a particular dumb breed of animal. Again, rude. Hayden has to get Shane away from this man. Shane is too good for whatever this is.
“You’re not my type,” Rozanov drawls.
“But Shane is?” Hayden asks incredulously. It’s not that Shane isn’t attractive, because of course he is. He was voted #1 most attractive player in the NHL for a reason. Hayden isn’t blind. He has eyes okay, and Shane Hollander is one beautiful man. But Ilya Rozanov is notorious for all the women he picks up. He can’t imagine Shane with someone like Rozanov. But Shane had come here. And if Rozanov really was Lily then this thing has been going on for years. And Shane is attached. Probably in love. But it’s probably all a joke to Rozanov, and Shane is going to get hurt. Fuck! “What game are you playing here, Rozanov? What are you doing with him?”
Rozanov’s eyes are hard, but his lips curl around a smirk. “Do you really want to know what I do with him?”
Hayden squeezes his eyes shut and tries really hard to not look directly at the images his mind is supplying him with. “Gross. No.” He shakes his head and points a rigid finger at Rozanov as he pins him with his gaze. “That’s not what I mean, and you know that, asshole. Shane isn’t like you. He’s just...good, so whatever joke you think you are pulling, don’t.”
Rozanov works his jaw as though the implication has deeply offended him. “This isn’t your business, Pike.”
“Yes, it fucking is. Shane is my best friend. If some asshole is fucking with him then it is my business,” Hayden spits vehemently. “What are you doing, huh? You’re just messing with him because, what? It’s like forbidden and that gets you going? Is that the appeal?”
Rozanov’s eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t think much of your best friend.”
Then he walks away, dismissively. God, Hayden really hates this motherfucker. Hayden stares at the space he’d vacated for a moment, anger blazing through him, then hurries to keep up. “I don’t think much of you.” He raises his voice to make sure he is heard as he stomps after a shirtless Rozanov to his kitchen where the man starts his coffee maker. Rozanov doesn’t turn to face him until the steady hum of the machine fills the space.
“And who should Shane be with?” Rozanov’s question is a challenge. It’s in the dangerous undercurrent of his voice, in the slow and deliberate rise of his brows like he’s just waiting for Hayden to give him an excuse to punch him.
Hayden will gladly take a punch for Shane. He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin stubbornly before answering. "Someone nice! Sombody who...I don’t know–” Hayden throws his hands in the air. “Someone who fucking cares about him?”
“What, someone like you?”
Some intangible, weightless sensation runs down Hayden’s back at the implication. “No. I– I’m not–” he sputters. Gritting his teeth, he sneers, “Just someone who isn’t you.”
“You think you know what is best for him?” the fucker has the audacity to ask.
“Yeah.” Hayden nods firmly. “I’ve known him since we were rookies.”
Rozanov’s lips twitch with twisted amusement, with disdain. “I have known him longer.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Yes.”
The steady look on his face tells him it’s true, and Hayden hates that more than anything. And because Hayden feels a little petty and a lot helpless in all of this, like he’s floundering, he spits, “I’m on to you, Rozanov. I don’t know what you think you’ll get out of this. If you think making Shane...care about you means he’ll take it easy on you or let you win, you’re fucking wrong.”
Rozanov blinks slowly in delayed disbelief, before he has a chance to speak Hayden continues.
“Whatever it is, it stops now.”
Rozanov is already shaking his head, carelessly. “You don’t decide.”
“Fuck you.”
“I don’t decide, either,” Rozanov says simply and presses a palm against his own chest. “Shane decides.”
For a minute, Hayden doesn’t know what to do with this earnest version of Rozanov. Rozanov, the womanizing bastard who lives to make everyone’s life a living hell. Someone, not good. Someone his best friend should decidedly not be anything with. “You’ve slept with like a thousand women!” Hayden blurts out.
Rozanov scrunches his nose. “Is probably not a thousand.”
The fucker’s gaze grows distant as if he’s actually adding up the number of his conquests. Jesus christ!
“Who do you think you are kidding here? You obviously aren’t, y’know, gay.”
“You have not heard of bisexuals?” Rozanov asks like Hayden is stupid.
Hayden grits his teeth again, his jaw is starting to ache, and clenches his fists. He’s definitely going to punch this asshole.
“Some people like apples, some people like oranges. Some people like apples and orang–” Rozanov starts with an exaggeratedly patient tone, his words slow and enunciated.
“Fuck you, I know what it means.” Hayden takes a deep breath then warns, “I won’t let you hurt him.”
“Okay,” Rozanov replies easily and spins away from Hayden to the coffee maker as if Hayden hadn’t just threatened him.
“I’m fucking serious.” He walks around the kitchen island and Rozanov looks at him without a hint of worry.
“Okay,” he drawls again, and Hayden fucking sees red. His hands lift to Rozanov’s chest and he pushes him with all his might.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” a sharp voice cuts through to them, and Hayden spins to see Shane.
— ∞ —
Shane had woken up in the hotel. In his own body. And promptly had a freak-out, because that meant Hayden was back in his own body. Within thirty minutes of waking up Shane’s dressed and ready, and on his way to Ilya’s.
Where Hayden is sleeping in Ilya’s home.
On the couch, but still.
It’s pretty fucking telling.
There’s no way Shane can talk his way out of this one.
Fuck, he shouldn’t have gone to Ilya’s last night. He wasn’t going to, but Ilya had seemed genuinely troubled by Shane’s cancellation of their plans. And then he’d sent that text, and it had torn Shane up knowing Ilya was second-guessing what he could have done to upset Shane. Shane wasn’t particularly strong-willed when it came to Ilya on a good day.
What he doesn’t expect – but maybe definitely should have – is to walk in to find Hayden and Ilya about to come to blows. His voice cuts through to them, though, and they both freeze, wide-eyed and admonished as they turn towards him.
Shane isn’t really sure what to do now, what the right move is. Instead of doing anything, his gaze just moves between them, discomfort swirling in his chest. Ilya watches him closely for a moment, attentively moving over his body as if trying to determine if Shane is about to have a panic attack. Shane, himself, isn’t entirely sure, but Ilya seems to come to the conclusion that he won’t because he turns towards his coffee maker and fiddles with it, throwing a soft coffee? over his shoulder.
“No, thank you,” Shane mumbles, eyes on Hayden, who watches the interaction suspiciously, like he’s waiting for the punchline of a particularly horrible joke.
“Shane,” Hayden laments, begs, as he steps closer. “Tell me this is a prank. One of your jokes that I don’t understand until days later.”
“I– no. It’s…” Shane’s eyes flick to Ilya briefly, and he draws in a deep breath. “It’s not a joke.”
Ilya thrusts a cup of coffee into Hayden’s hands, who barely seems to register it, and walks to Shane. His eyes drag over him, but he doesn’t move to touch him, steps close without making contact. “Pike thought I was fucking you so you would let me win games,” Ilya tells him conspiratorially, and Hayden glares at him.
“Hayd, what the fuck?” Shane squeaks out, affronted at the implication that he would ever, or that Ilya would only fuck him to gain a competitive edge.
“Why else would you two be...together?” He looks viscerally disgusted at the idea, and Shane’s stomach twists.
Ilya narrows his eyes but he doesn’t answer the question, which was probably mostly rhetorically anyway. “Don’t worry, Shane,” he starts as he leans closer to Shane. “Hayden thinks you’re very attractive.”
Shane gives him a flat look, even though the snarky comment does ease some of his anxiety.
“Fuck you, Rozanov.”
“No, thank you. You’re not Shane.”
Hayden scowls, free hand flying up in Ilya’s direction, expectant gaze on Shane. “This guy?” he demands incredulously. Ilya smirks, and Shane can only shrug in response. Hayden stares at him for a moment then throws his head back. “I hate my life,” he grumbles to the ceiling.
Ilya rolls his eyes and turns to Shane. “Have you eaten?”
At the shake of his head, Ilya moves back behind the counter, placing his coffee on the kitchen island before turning to his fridge and finding the ingredients for Shane’s usual breakfast smoothie. His heart lurches at Ilya’s knowledge of it, at the fact that Ilya had shopped for him. Again.
“Are you guys in love?” Hayden asks cautiously, eyes flicking between them. His voice startles Shane out of his momentary reverie, the words even more shocking. Shane thinks, maybe, they are, but they haven’t actually discussed all of that. Still, he can’t help but ask, “Would that be so awful?”
“Yes. Worse even.”
“Why?”
“It’s Rozanov,” Hayden says as if that’s reason enough.
“I know.”
Hayden looks at him for a long moment, eyes moving with his whirling thoughts before they pin Shane. “Jackie has this friend. He’s really great, you should–”
Ilya turns with the sole purpose of leveling Hayden with a murderous look. Shane fully approves at the moment.
“Don’t fucking finish that sentence,” Shane warns lowly.
“Shane, buddy, you gotta wake up. I don’t know what he is doing but it can’t be...real.”
Shane’s heart breaks at the carefully blank expression on Ilya’s face. It makes a fierce protectiveness that Shane has never felt before rush through him. It makes him want to be strong. For Ilya. He turns to his best friend. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“This won’t work, Shane.” Hayden’s voice is sympathetic, like Shane isn’t an adult, like he’s one of Hayden’s kids and he’s just too young and naive to see the full picture. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, and this fucker isn’t good for you.”
Shane quietly seethes at the words, body trembling faintly with how tightly coiled he is. “I was nothing but supportive about Jackie when you started dating.”
“Yeah, but Jackie is great. Rozanov is...Rozanov.” He spits out the name like it’s an expletive, a particularly heinous slur.
Shane just looks at him. He doesn’t know what his face is doing, but as the quiet stretches the expression on Hayden’s face softens, becomes gentler and more compassionate. He runs a hand over the back of his head, all the way to his eyes as he breathes audibly. The tension drains from his body, and he is much calmer when he looks at Shane again.
“Okay.” He nods. “Fuck, okay. I’m not trying to be an asshole. I just...this is really fucking unexpected.”
“You should have told me,” Hayden says a while later, subdued. They’ve moved to the dining table. Ilya had cooked breakfast for them, and had even managed to coax Shane into eating an omelet with his smoothie.
“I couldn’t,” Shane denies softly. Regretfully. “I didn’t even know what it was. I wanted to, though. For so long. It’s fucking isolating not being able to trust anyone with this. I wanted to so fucking bad, but I just couldn’t. Also, I was worried about how you might react.”
“You’ve taken it super well,” Ilya drawls, words lathered in sarcasm. His mouth is full, fork half-way to shove more in there. Shane turns and shoots him a warning look.
“I could have been worse,” Hayden defends petulantly.
Ilya scrunches his face, the silent could you, though? Loud and obnoxious as he continues eating.
They all know that yes, Hayden could have definitely been worse. Much, much worse. But Ilya wouldn’t give him that credit, Shane knows that for sure. Given some of the things Hayden has said, Shane isn’t feeling particularly generous, either.
“This is so weird.”
— ∞ —
After breakfast things are...awkward. For Pike. Ilya doesn’t care. Shane is back in his own body, in Ilya’s home, looking as beautiful as ever, and Ilya can’t take his eyes off him anymore. He only just manages to keep his hands to himself.
“Pike, unless you want to stay for show, you should leave. Now,” he says, never tearing his gaze from Shane, who has flushed so prettily under Ilya’s attention.
“Gross.”
Ilya’s eyes flick to him for less than a second. “No one knows you are here. It would be very easy to get rid of your body.”
“Shane,” Pike whines, but Shane doesn’t take his side. And fuck, that’s really fucking sexy.
“No.” Shane shakes his head, speaking to Pike. “I don’t know what you did, but you did something to cause all of this, so you’re on your own, buddy.”
Pike sighs, loud and dramatic. Had it been anyone else, Ilya might respect the theatrics.
“Okay,” Pike says. “How do I get back to the hotel?”
Ilya looks to Shane blankly at the question. “This is my fault. I have slammed him against the boards too much.” He turns to Hayden and, like it should be obvious, tells him, “Call Uber, Pike.” Then he physically shuffles Pike out of his home. His mouth falls open to complain to Shane who has followed them to the door, but Ilya slams it in his face before he has a chance to say anything.
“Fuck you!” Hayden yells from the other side inspiring a satisfied smile to break out on Ilya’s face.
“I will allow this kind of behavior today because of all this shit, but you have to be nice to him eventually,” Shane says as Ilya turns to him and immediately crowds against him.
Ilya buries his face in the hollow of Shane’s throat, hands gliding greedily over his firm body. “No,” he mumbles against warm skin.
“Yes.” Shane tugs at his curls and lets Ilya lead them to the bedroom, where they do their best to make up for the time they’d lost.
— ∞ —
“How did this happen?” Ilya asks after.
Shane sighs and buries closer into Ilya. Reveling in his proximity while he still can. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t let it happen again,” Ilya says firmly. “Pike, even you-Pike is not welcome in my house again.”
Shane snorts and gropes a firm pec in response. “I will try my best,” he promises dryly with a roll of his eyes.
“Hmm. You always do.”
— ∞ —
Hayden to Shane, 36 hours earlier, exactly as the stars and planets had aligned, “Pshhh. I wish you could be me for just one day. Then you’d know.”